


fade to black

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: -Ish, Co-workers, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, M/M, Public Sex, yes this is blow job in theater thanks for asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: That’s the thing about Phil. He’s a tease.orfilms, flirting, and other things that start with f.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 121





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [indistinct_echo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indistinct_echo/gifts).



> big big big thank u to echo this was so fun to write and it wouldn't exist if not for u! i hope u love it as much as i do!!  
> another thanks to louise (for not strangling me for asking if gummy worms are british every 15 minutes) and kelly (for always being so brave in reading my un-baked sex and telling me if it's allowed to see the light of day or not) <3

Dan has never understood why anyone would want to rise early on a Sunday morning just to go to the cinema, but there’s little to complain about—not the hour, not the wind, nor the slight chill in the air—when he’s greeted so warmly with this particular view. 

Phil has, once again, forgotten the concept of the building not yet being open, his lanky body crouched over to block the wind and fumble uselessly with the door handle. He’s warm, somehow, smells like popcorn—the scent no doubt permanently adhered to his uniform—as Dan comes up behind him, pressing himself right up against his back with his keycard in hand. It’s too close, as always. Too close for co-workers, for friends even, but that’s just how they are. 

Phil grumbles a good morning, a thanks, as Dan swipes his card and the door clicks. Dan just lets out a little huff of a laugh, humming something about getting some coffee into Phil while he pushes the door open and shepherds him in with a hand at his back. This more pliable, slightly grumpy early morning Phil that Dan always feels so undeserving of witnessing is a rarity, and Dan soaks in the way he leans into his touches, hovering beside him as he sets up the shitty concessions coffee machine until there’s a steady drip and a steaming paper cup clutched in Phil’s hands. 

They lag, as the two of them always do these early morning shifts. Once Phil is feeling more human, though, Dan is too—by proxy, apparently—and they fall into their opening routine with ease. He reckons it’s because they work so well together, rarely getting in each other’s way and always somehow picking up on when the other needs a hand without as much as a glance. 

Though there _are_ quite a lot of glances, just none of them ever being anything close to professional. 

It’s not like that when Dan is on with anyone else, never has been. 

He’s supposed to hate this job, he _should_ hate this job, but Dan finds it a difficult task when he’s so often scheduled alongside Phil. If he had to guess the reasoning behind that, he’d say it has something to do with his customer service smile slipping into something more genuine, and also Phil’s pull with the scheduling manager—he seems to actually like working with Dan, too. 

They’re here for entirely different reasons. Phil, the recent film grad who only has the job for the free tickets and endless popcorn that Dan isn’t even sure how he has the room for. And Dan, simply pulling on the ugly navy polo because the cinema was the first to call him back after he applied to every minimum wage job in the city in a desperate attempt to prevent having to slink back home with his tail between his legs. 

He says ugly, but that’s not even a word that crosses his mind as he looks over to Phil at the other end of concessions, reaching up to grab a box of popcorn kernels off the high shelf. Dan lets his weight lean against the counter, lets his eyes flick up and down as Phil’s tight work shirt pulls up to reveal a sliver of skin and the bright orange band of his pants peeking out from where his trousers sit teasingly low on his hips. They always are. Either too tight, or just a little too baggy, always _tempting_ regardless. 

That’s the thing about Phil. He’s a tease. 

Dan knows it from the way he’s always dropping things, purposely putting things out of reach—they used to store the popcorn lower down, just by the machine, until one day Phil had shrugged and said it was more out of the way up there. 

He knows it from the way Phil leaves attractive customers stunned with his brazen flirting, the way he’s noticed many a guy picking Phil up after their shifts. He knows it from the way Phil will lower his voice when he talks to him, how he’s always finding an excuse to share space, hands brushing across shoulders, arms crossing each other’s paths during transactions. 

And he knows it from the way Phil glances over to him with a smirk, with something that could be considered a wink as he returns Dan’s hungry glance. 

There’s something electric there. Dan feels it, and he’s often left wondering if Phil feels it too, or if he’s just one of many—a part of the game. 

Dan licks his lips, and chapped skin rolls between his teeth for a moment before he shakes himself out of it and turns to busy himself with double-checking if the night shift properly cleaned the nozzles on the drinks machine. 

He’s almost tempted to scoop up a few bits of ice from the trough and press them to his cheeks to calm the blazing heat, but that’s nearly as inappropriate as lusting after your fit, flirty co-worker while on shift. 

“Ugh,” Dan groans as he twists the nozzle all the way off with his now sticky hand. 

“Again?” Phil asks, though he doesn’t sound surprised, and makes his way towards Dan. He’s already got his hands lifted when Dan turns, his fist settled in the open palm of his hand with his eyebrows high on his forehead—expectant. A challenge. 

Dan rolls his eyes and drops the nozzle to mimic him, starting up the near endless round of rock, paper, scissors that’ll determine who’s going to be stuck cleaning them today. 

It’s not like he likes the job, but Phil makes it tolerable. 

-

“Can I switch four and eight with you?” 

Dan’s all doe-eyed and begging, approaching Phil as he’s just about to open the door for screen one—just the two of them in the empty theatre hall. 

“Please,” he pleads, “I’m not above begging.” 

“Oh I bet you aren’t,” Phil huffs just a bit too loudly under his breath, but the glint in his eye, the tug of the corner of his mouth say Dan was definitely meant to hear it. Dan ignores the blush creeping up his neck, rising high on his cheeks. There are more pressing issues at hand. 

“Pretty please.” Dan goes as far as jutting his bottom lip out when he stops a few steps away from Phil, crossing his arms despite his dustpan clanging together in his hand. 

Looking past him, Phil’s chin tilts up and he squints at the showings lit up over the doors just down the hall. Dan doesn’t have to look to know. The new Marvel movie is showing in both of them, staggered, and of course, Dan hasn’t had a free moment to see it for himself since it came out. 

“Oof.” Phil looks back to Dan with that deviously playful smirk on his face. “Unlucky. Still haven’t seen it yet?”

Dan shakes his head, frowning a little as he looks down at the garishly patterned carpet under his feet. Their feet, because Phil is stepping closer, right into Dan’s space—his shiny work shoes tapping against Dan’s shiny work shoes. Dan looks up, the muscle in his chest doing a quick re-start at the blues and greens and yellows so close up. 

Phil sighs deeply and dramatically, very clearly trying to bite back a smile as his eyes flick all over Dan’s face. “I _guess_ you can take one and three—” 

“Thank you!” Dan beams. 

“—and nine,” Phil adds, a brow raised. 

_Nine…_ Dan is quick to look over his shoulder, groaning when he realizes it’s the current kids movie. He looks back to Phil, breathing in sharp again at how close they are—as if the few breaths of air away started everything anew. 

“Ugh, I hate you,” Dan says, fondly. 

Phil laughs, a sound that Dan wants bottled or dispensed in a large cup of ice, and he brushes a thumb against the crook of Dan’s arm. It lingers—Phil’s hand, the spark of electricity in the air between them, Dan’s lack of breath—until the moment dissipates all together. 

The door besides them swings open, a man rushing out of the theatre and across the hall to the toilets, and the two of them part like they’ve just touched a scalding pan. 

“You’re welcome, Dan!” Phil calls as he skips off down the hall, leaving Dan to settle his heart rate with a few gulps of stale popcorn air before he can move his feet to get his own work done. 

-

Mumbled obscenities float up into the air as the sound of metal against concrete scrapes at Dan’s eardrums. He got most of the sweeping done whilst parents were corralling their children out of the theatre, but his eyes _had_ to catch the absolute nightmare of about a hundred gummy sweets pressed into the floor under one of the seats. 

It’s quite impressive, honestly, if he can look past the annoyance of having to be the one to clean it up. Some kid really managed to accomplish greatness in less than ninety minutes. But unfortunately this is the cinema, not the Tate, so abstract, perishable art installations must go. 

Dan pauses his scraping as he hears footsteps approaching, nearly bashing his head against the bottom of the seat as he jerks up like a meerkat. 

It’s oddly… _charged_ for Dan, down on his knees on the sticky floor, doing something so gross as Phil approaches down the aisle. He holds Dan’s gaze for a beat too long when he stops right in front of him, the room starkly silent. Dan gulps loudly in his ears right before Phil drops down to his knees himself.

They exchange another glance, a brief twitch of a shared smile, and then Phil’s got his own scraper out, taking no time to wordlessly offer his assistance. 

“Why are you helping me?” Dan asks, voice hushed, curious as he pulls up a particularly long melty bit—presumably a whole gummy worm—from the floor. They both shiver as he flings it into the bin bag. 

“Wasn’t really a fair trade, was it?” Phil hums. 

“Hmph.” Dan sits back on his feet, absently cracking his knuckles while Phil scrapes at the floor, his fringe completely falling over his eyes from the angle he’s at. “You like the Marvel movies though, didn’t you get spoiled?” 

Phil shrugs. “I saw it on premiere night.”

“Yikes.” Dan wiggles a little, feeling the start of pins and needles in his left foot and trying to will it away. “Seeing movies during blackout times, you really are a film buff.”

Phil makes a soft noise of agreement, letting the room fall quiet again, save his rhythmic scraping. 

“Are you on schedule tomorrow?” he asks, after a moment. 

Dan hums. “Opening.” 

“Me too.” Phil stops scraping. He looks up after a moment, head tilted. “Last matinee of the day isn’t blocked out.” 

“It isn’t?” 

“Mm, think I’m gonna grab lunch and see it again after shift.” 

“Oh. That’s a good idea—” 

“If you want to join me,” Phil says quickly, rushes it out and blinks at Dan—his eyes so impossibly wide for the brief few seconds he holds his gaze before ducking back down. 

“Yeah,” Dan’s voice croaks as he nods. “Yeah,” he says again, bending back down and starting his scraping back up alongside Phil. 

“Cool,” Phil says softly, eyes once again hidden behind his fringe. “What even happened?” He loses that unusual trepidation to his voice as he changes the subject—now brighter, louder. “Was a kid trying to, like, start a Haribo mosaic down here?” 

Dan laughs, nearly hitting his head on the seat again as it overtakes him. “Fuck if I know.” 

-

It’s not a date. 

Phil picks him up in the break room, catching Dan just after he’d gone to town on his hat hair, his fringe battled back into something more presentable. They bicker for all of five seconds before agreeing that they could both use a Starbucks. And, for whatever reason, they order the same drink. 

They talk and talk until they’re nearly late for the film—Phil pouts about missing the trailers while Dan acts as if that wasn’t his plan all along. He schools Phil on the proper allocation of pick and mix, and they share a popcorn because it just makes sense. 

When Dan grabs Phil’s hand halfway through the film, it’s merely a reaction to a tense scene. And then it’s just warm, nice, so neither of them lets go. 

Phil insists on walking Dan back to his flat after the film ends, saying he’s got to run an errand in that direction. It’s nice to bump shoulders as they walk, nice to get a wide, lingering smile as Phil squeezes at his arm and tells him to have a good night. It’s _really_ nice to watch Phil walk away from his building’s front steps. 

And it _definitely_ wasn’t a date. 

\- 

Shifts without Phil are… boring. They drag in a way that makes minutes seem like hours, and hours seem like days. There’s no one to bant with. No one to turn away from the till and share a rolled eye with at the popcorn machine. No one to bump dust pans with between theatre sweeps. No one to share lingering eye contact with as they pass down the hall. 

And that’s fine, really. It isn’t like he got the job to have _fun_ or anything like that—it’s not supposed to be fun, not supposed to be all giggles and crass jokes and flirty quips that they’d probably get fired for if anyone else seemed to care—but it’s definitely something he’s gotten a little too used to, too comfortable with. So on the rare days when their shifts don’t align, Dan really feels Phil’s absence like a chilled breeze through that hole in his heart he tries so hard to pretend isn’t there. 

_God,_ Dan shakes his head as he wipes down the back counter for hopefully the last time tonight. _So melodramatic._

There’s a film starting in fifteen minutes or so, another letting out in half an hour—the last two showings of the night—and Dan’s starting to feel the late hour heavy on his shoulders, in the dull throb at the soles of his feet. 

It’s been a slow night—middle of the week, no major releases tempting anyone to come in—and slow nights are nice when they aren’t prepared for, aren’t predicted. They mean more goofing off, less work doled out between whoever’s on shift. But on nights like these, where someone had the foresight to keep only the bare minimum of staff on, they’re downright exhausting. 

Dan’s been alternating between concessions and half-arsed theatre checks for the past few hours. It’s just him, the kid at the ticket window whose name he always forgets, and the night-time cleaning guy that just tugged his big, clanging cart through the foyer towards the toilets. Oh, and the very few people that have been trickling in to see various films. He thinks he counted all of eight heads going into the last theatre, and there’s yet to be a single soul that’s shown up for whatever weird indie film is playing one of their older screens—one of the two theatres in the cinema that has half the seating as all the others. 

He might get to clock out early, which is a plus, but that all depends on how quickly he can sweep the other theatre, and if anyone actually shows up for the last film of the night. 

Here’s to hoping. He’s already dreaming of getting out of his stiff work trousers, maybe even a nice, hot shower to loosen the tension in his muscles. Shivering at the thought, Dan shakes his head to snap out of any steam clouded daydreams and abandons his rag to get started on the drinks machine. 

Dan’s just starting to unscrew the first nozzle when there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind him, giving him a start. He’s quick to recover his breath, turning on his heel as he pulls on a smile. The effort’s no good though, the air in his chest lost again while a real, genuine smile easily replaces stiff falsity. 

Phil’s smile is bright, a little lopsided in that near-smirk way of his as it settles, and he rocks on his toes on the other side of the counter—always seemingly full of energy that needs to be expelled. Dan feels it like a jolt of caffeine in his bloodstream, like a late pick me up delivered via shining blue eyes. It’s ridiculous how far gone he is for the guy that Phil’s able to have this effect on him, but it’s also kind of ridiculous how hot Phil is. Completely unfair. It should be downright illegal, banned to come into the cinema looking this much of a full course meal—temptation dangled right under Dan’s nose.

He’s got on a plaid button up, red hugging snug around his biceps, his shoulders looking- fucking massive honestly. Dan follows the line of Phil’s arms, and then swallows at the way he’s not buttoned all the way up, the collar of his shirt opened to a peek of his chest. He needs to look anywhere, _anywhere_ else, lest he hop right over the counter to pounce. 

The stupid hat that’s probably made an indent in Dan’s fringe by now is nowhere to be found, Phil’s stark black hair on full display—tousled and messily hanging over his eyes. He looks at Dan from under it, all doe-eyed and scorching in that impossible way, taking advantage of the mere scrape of height Dan has on him. If it weren’t so obvious, if it wasn’t a blatant dress code violation, Dan would pop the top few buttons of _his_ polo, the normally chilled foyer ramped up to about a thousand degrees. 

It’s a rare sight, them not being on the same side. And it’s doing something to Dan, something he can’t quite put a finger on. He kind of wants to give Phil everything behind the counter and then himself. 

If he wants, he can chalk it up to rarely seeing Phil out of uniform. 

Or he can just call it what it is: a big fat crush on a co-worker, a friend, that constantly seems to be teetering right on the precipice of something more. 

And, in all honesty, he looks hot as fuck _in_ uniform, too, so who the fuck is Dan even trying to kid with that excuse? 

“Hi, Danny.” Phil smirks, pulling his hands from the pockets of his jeans to splay them out on the counter. He rocks forwards and stays there, replacing the smell of popcorn in Dan’s nose with something sweet, slightly musky in a way that spins his head. 

Dan musters the strength to roll his eyes. He crosses his arms in what could come across as annoyance at the nickname, but really he’s just trying very hard to not do something stupid like reach out to grab Phil by the collar and pull him close. 

“You here to be a bother or for the 10:30 in twelve?” he asks. 

Phil’s lips stretch wider. There’s a twinkle in his eye that’s got Dan’s stomach doing flips. “Both,” he says easily with a shrug, then lifts a hand to knock over one the of the small pick and mix cup towers like a bored house cat. 

“Hate you,” Dan laughs. He presses against the counter to right it, and Phil brushes his thumb against Dan’s knuckles before shoving his hands back into his pockets. 

“You don’t,” Phil says, smug. Like he hadn’t just kickstarted Dan’s heart. 

Dan just huffs, tries to bite back his smile and fails tremendously. 

“Did I miss the Coke window?” Phil stretches to look over Dan’s shoulder, his long, pale neck a beacon. Dan gulps, shakes his head a little to stop himself from staring, and follows Phil’s gaze. 

“Nope,” Dan stretches out, popping the p. “Just in time,” he says as he turns towards the machine. “You want a popcorn too?” he asks over his shoulder. 

“Obviously.” 

Phil chatters to Dan about all the awards the film he’s seeing has won, how he’s excited to finally see it for himself while they wait for a fresh batch of popcorn to pop. Because Phil doesn’t care about catching the adverts and Dan’s a bit whipped for him, doesn’t think someone like Phil deserves the sad, scraped up bits left at the end of the night. 

“You should try to catch it,” Phil says, catching Dan’s eye as he hands him his change. “If you can get away after closing up.”

“Mm, maybe,” Dan hums. He nudges the popcorn bucket closer to Phil, tries not to think too hard about the pink mouth sucking around the straw in his Coke—the perfect peaks at his top lip, how _soft_ they always look. 

_Fuck._ Dan shakes his head, licks his lips as he looks up to see the smirk in Phil’s dark eyes. The blood just below the skin of his cheeks is so hot, he’s sure it’s radiating off him like he’s a goddamn space heater. 

“Busy guy?” Phil asks, teases really. 

“Something like that,” Dan breathes, and Phil laughs. Warm and unrestrained and quickly setting up camp in Dan’s chest. 

As Phil tucks the bucket in the crook of his arm and lingers by the counter for a beat too long, not relinquishing Dan’s gaze, Dan can’t help but pluck one of the pick and mix cups off the tower, sliding it across the counter with a little grin. Phil’s face lights up, doing a little wiggle of his very distracting shoulders at the gesture, and Dan merely holds a finger to his lips with a conspiratorial smile. 

Phil’s definitely worth the potential reprimand. 

Leaning against the counter, Dan watches with amusement as Phil fills his cup to the top with nothing but fizzy peaches. He shakes his head. 

“You learn nothing from me.” 

“I do!” Phil’s head whips around, and Dan chooses to ignore the sweet he’s about to pop into his mouth. “I’m in a peach mood, don’t shame me!” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Go watch your weird film, adverts are almost up. Gonna miss those spoilery trailers you love so much.” 

“Oh!” Phil spins to look at the big clock on the far wall that Dan’s eyes just flicked to, spills some popcorn on the floor that Dan’s definitely going to have to go over and sweep up as he turns back to Dan to give him a little wave. “Bye Dan!” 

“Bye Phil.” Dan shakes his head, smiling fondly. 

And with that, it’s just Dan again in the foyer. The heavy weight of the day on his shoulders is replaced with something else, something that sets him alight. Something that only burns hotter as he tries, and fails, to replace thoughts of Phil with proper closing procedures. 

Dan shuts down what he needs and does a quick sweep of the theatres, something tingling in the pit of his stomach as he moves quicker than he ever has at work. 

It’s just too tempting. Too tempting to know Phil is all alone in that dusty back theatre, that they’re practically all alone in the cinema as a whole after he’s bit his tongue with a fake smile repeating his _have a good night_ ’s as the people in the other showing trickle out past him. 

There’s something about Phil that he can’t say no to, that he doesn’t want to say no to. 

Once Dan’s decided he’s closed up enough for the night, he dips into the toilets for a piss, to wash the popcorn grease and industrial cleaner smell from his hands, and splash a bit of water on his face. He pulls off his cap and cringes, shaking his fringe somewhat back into place before shoving it back on. And then he makes his way over to Phil’s theatre with his little dustpan in tow. Because of course he was going to, of course it was never a question of if or maybe, but simply _when._

If there’s nothing else to do, Dan rationalizes, might as well join him. 

The heavy door swings shut softly behind him, It’s dark, of course it’s dark, and the film on the screen is hushed. A chill rolls its way down Dan’s spine as he gently sets his dustpan down against the wall and steps down towards the rows of seats. Something about it is different, maybe the late night, the empty room—sans the one guy smack dab in the middle hyper-focused on the screen—but something about it feels like he’s just shut out the rest of the world. Like whatever’s beyond that door can’t get to him, to them, as he quietly makes his way down the aisle over to Phil. 

Phil smiles bright when Dan thunks down into the seat next to him, not even a match for the dim theatre. He’s quick to quietly fill Dan in on what he’s missed, some sort of spider web of romance drama Dan follows less than the low hum of his voice, and when he leans into Phil’s side to stick his hand into the popcorn bucket on his lap, he doesn’t find it in himself to pull away. Neither does Phil. 

Phil’s voice is right in his ear, all low and hushed as if they aren’t the only two people in the theatre. It just feels right though, not talking above a whisper. Even the actors on screen get it, like the slightest raise of a voice will pop the bubble surrounding them. Which… to be honest, _is_ making it a little boring. 

“This film is…” Dan trails off, his eyes squinting as he watches the screen. 

“It picks up, apparently. According to reviews.” 

“I can’t believe you read reviews before watching films,” Dan whispers back, feeling himself press closer into Phil’s side as their heads tilt into each other. 

“I can’t believe you _don’t_.” Phil nudges at Dan’s shoulder, all warm and firm and- _god,_ Dan’s got to stop that line of thinking. “It’s like you’re more of a film snob than me.” 

“Ouch.” Dan claps his hand to his chest. “If I’m a snob then you’re just a nerd.” 

Phil chuckles lightly beside him, jostling Dan’s shoulder. “Think we’re both nerds, actually.” 

Dan huffs a quiet laugh to himself. “Fair,” he hums—doesn’t even know if it’s intentional when he drifts closer into Phil’s side. 

“If you want,” Phil presses even closer, “I can clear out so you can clock out early.” Dan can feel the tickle of his breath against his skin, has to bite down on his tongue so he doesn’t physically shake with the feeling that jolts down his spine. 

“Nah.” He’s actually shocked by how chill he sounds. He doesn’t feel chill, not at all. He makes a half-arsed joke about needing the money, reckons Phil sees right through him anyway—knows he just wants to hang out with Phil. The little content hum and the bump of his shoulder he gets in response tells him that maybe, maybe they are on similar pages, flipping through the same book. And even if the film doesn’t pick up, Dan knows he’ll be watching the rest of it with a smile. 

-

It does though, pick up that is. There’s a moment where all that droning and soft building tension snaps, the tangle of the main love triangle unravelling itself in a way Dan honestly wasn’t expecting. Not for typical films, not the kinds that get shown at the cinema like this. Though the vague memory of the film’s rating flashes across his mind as a _significant_ amount of skin flashes across the screen. 

It’s… _hot._ And distinctly queer. And quite… public. 

God, it’s doing something for him, slowly turning a key in the lock that makes him start to squirm a little in his seat. 

“They’re so… breathy.” Dan lifts a hand to gesture to the screen, but he finds it all too tempting to drift into Phil’s space, so he clamps it back down on the armrest. He really does try to go for something light, like how they’ve been joking back and forth in hushed tones up until this point, but it falls flat. Honestly, it comes out in a similar tone as the guy on the screen as fingers are threaded through his hair. 

“Yeah?” He’s never heard Phil’s voice this low. It spins his head, nearly pulls a whine from his throat.

“It’s…” 

“Hot?” Phil supplies easily. 

“Yeah,” Dan hums, the word barely audible. He briefly wonders if they’ve recently replaced the air-con with a dehumidifier, if it’s the room that’s suddenly void of moisture or just his mouth. 

-

He doesn’t realize he’s squirming, his brain doesn’t catch up with his heightened breathing, until he feels a firm, sure squeeze just above his knee. Phil’s thumb presses into his flesh, Dan’s breath catching as it rubs through the material of his trousers, hot and grounding. Seconds away from floating right up to the ceiling, Dan lets out the long breath he’d been holding in, instantly melting into the touch. 

Apparently, Dan’s having a bit of trouble keeping up with his own self-awareness, Phil short-circuiting his brain with the simplest of touches at his thigh. It takes Phil’s breathy chuckle, his hand kneading further up, for Dan to rip his eyes from the screen and look to the side with warmth pulsing beneath his cheeks. The soft whiny noise that escapes his throat dies off, lips parted as he looks to Phil with wide, almost embarrassed eyes. 

The room is dark, or perhaps Phil’s eyes are dark, but his smile remains bright. The corner of his mouth twitches up further, like he’s proper proud of himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Dan. 

Any lingering shame, worry, embarrassment falls away as Dan stares into those eyes, breath hitching as he tries to take back control of it—though he’s starting to wonder if that’s something he even wants. 

He wants Phil. He wants the fingers squeezing, pressing into the shockingly sensitive flesh of his upper thigh to never stop. He wants… he just _wants._

Dan isn’t sure if he whines again, if it’s Phil’s name that leaves his lips, or if he even makes a noise at all as he lets his eyes slip shut for a moment to breathe in deeply through his nose, but when he opens them again it’s to Phil’s teeth, to eyes that are darker—and somehow even softer—than they were before. 

“I could help you with that,” Phil says, voice low. Dan’s eyes follow his tongue as it peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. 

“With what?” Dan croaks in a whisper. He tries to play dumb, looks away from Phil to the screen with his lip between his teeth. Pushing up into Phil’s touch at his leg really defeats the whole purpose, but he can’t help it. All his brain supplies—begs for—is _more._

Phil huffs softly in amusement. The sound feels like a delicious punch to his stomach. “Our work trousers aren’t that forgiving,” Phil says, still kneading his thumb into Dan’s thigh, sliding inwards. His voice is even closer, breath puffing against Dan’s neck until he’s sure he’s covered in gooseflesh, every hair on his body standing straight up as he sags into Phil’s side, letting himself become the putty in Phil’s hands that he so desperately wants to be. 

“Oh,” Dan breathes. Phil hums in response, warm breath making Dan shiver as he just barely presses ghosts of kisses up and down the side of his neck, to his throat—the response having nothing to do with how cool they keep the theatre. 

It’s not even that explicit, the film Dan’s eyes focus in and out as he keens and sighs into the attention at his neck. But it’s the sounds, the suggestion, the want and need and _love_ he can _feel_ through the screen. And, of course, the blanks Phil is filling in into the shell of Dan’s ear—breath hot, hushed words hotter. His lips are soft as they brush against his lobe, his teeth gentle, but as insistent as Dan feels when they bite. 

Dan’s mind is a swirl of pleasure, of months upon months of tension melting away only to build back up again with every sharp intake of breath, with Phil’s words—slotting them into the scene on screen, how it’d feel, how he’d be _better._ Dan can barely form a coherent thought in the clouds, though he does manage to let a breathless, teasing, “ _Cocky_ ,” fall from his lips. 

And they laugh, and they gasp, and it all feels so perfectly _them_ —just set aflame. 

“Would you like that, Dan?” Phil hums, lifting his head to nod to the screen. “Having someone watch you come undone? Or would you like the thrill of keeping quiet, hm? So they don’t notice I’ve slipped to the floor to take you in my mouth.” 

The theatre is empty, but it’s never felt more full. Like every seat is occupied, every eye on the two of them. Blood thrums in Dan’s ears. He has to bite his tongue, hard, to stop the whine that follows the aching twitch of his cock at Phil’s words. He thinks he’s starting to sweat through his polo. 

“ _Phil_ ,” Dan whines—pleads. He rips his eyes from the screen to look at him, their noses nearly brushing from how Dan’s practically wiggled his way into Phil’s seat. 

He looks the picture of innocence—soft, wide eyes in the dim light of the theatre screen, a twitch of a smirk as he brushes his thumb comfortingly against Dan’s thigh. Phil leans in, pressing a kiss to Dan’s blazing hot cheek. It lingers, the tingle at his cheek, the spark against his lips as Phil’s just _barely_ brushes against them as he speaks. 

“I’ll take care of you.” 

Phil drops to his knees so quickly, Dan’s surprised _he’s_ the one that feels dizzy. 

He watches, like Phil is the feature film, as he licks his plush, pink lips. Hands run up his thighs and Dan slides back into his seat, going pliant, making it abundantly clear that he’s Phil’s to meld. They don’t lose each other’s eyes, barely even blinking. Dan nods when Phil pauses, letting him unbutton his trousers and press his warm palm against his aching cock through the soft, thin fabric of his Calvins. 

Dan groans loudly, popping the quiet bubble they’ve been encased in but not losing the moment. With the tentative rub of Phil’s hand, whatever remaining tension clinging to his bones dissipates entirely. Dan lifts a hand to push his cap off, not caring as it drops to the floor so he can run his fingers through his hair, get his fringe off his hot forehead before it goes all sweaty. As if it hasn’t already. Another unabashed whine leaves his throat at the feeling. 

“Yeah?” Phil looks up from where he’s been staring down at Dan’s hard cock through his pants. “You want to be heard?” 

Dan groans again, melting into the seat as a shiver takes over his body at the thought. There’s a soft chuckle, Phil shifting on his knees on the floor and smiling up at him like this is just any old, regular Wednesday evening activity. Maybe he _should_ be paying better attention when he’s on attendant shifts, instead of goofing off with Phil and barely peeking a head into the emptier theatres. 

The thought is ripped from his mind, pretty sure his eyes roll to the back of his head as Phil takes him out of his pants in one swift motion. Dan’s head thunks back against the seat, a string of soft expletives floating from his lips to the ceiling as a soft hand strokes him gently. 

He feels heat, warmth more than Phil’s palm at the head of his dick, and it takes everything in him to lift his head from the back of his seat, open his eyes to look down at Phil. Because, _god,_ he feels absolutely boneless but he isn’t missing this view for the world. 

Phil has got his pretty lips parted, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip as he holds Dan’s cock teasingly close to his mouth, just stroking slowly, tapping it against his lip a few times eliciting a soft whine from Dan’s throat. 

He could come like this, he’s sure. If he loosened the clench of his jaw, of his fist that has found the armrest somewhere along the way, he could paint Phil’s face from just this soft touch—just from _looking_ at him, alone. 

As inexperienced as he may feel stacking himself up to Phil—someone so confident, so sure in his actions, in his wants—he’s so fucking glad he at least knows how to hold himself off, how to not embarrass the fuck out of himself and come the second Phil got his hands on him. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” the sound is ripped from his throat, Dan jolting off the back of his seat as Phil finally gets his mouth on him. For all the build-up—minutes here but _months_ of it, really—Phil sinks all the way down in one fell swoop, his hot, wet mouth causing Dan to see stars. Phil’s throat flexes tight around him as he soundlessly gags and slowly pulls up to cough, and Dan feels the silky soft press of his tongue all the way back up. 

It’s teasing after that, Phil swirling his tongue around Dan’s head as he strokes him again, his other hand digging deliciously into the flesh of Dan’s thigh. He looks so fucking… smug, proud of himself as they lock eyes. And he should be, Dan thinks. He looks as though he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to him—how he’s taking him apart and putting him back together all at once—as if he can feel it himself. But Dan reckons that’s got more to do with the nonstop string of curses, high whiny hums of encouragement, and huffy, pathetic little moans that are filling the theatre. 

Dan gains his confidence as Phil works his mouth over him—only ever dropping Dan’s gaze when his eyes flutter shut and he moans himself, nearly making Dan come every time. He replaces his grip on the seat’s armrest with a grip in Phil’s perfectly messy hair. It’s soft, as soft as it has always looked, and this isn’t at all the situation Dan ever thought he’d be in to find that out, but he’s not complaining at all. 

The tangle of his fingers gets another moan that reverberates through his cock, Phil going low and staying down, his nose pressing into the hair at the base of his cock. He leans into Dan’s touch, makes him tug when he pulls back up for a sharp breath of air. 

There’s a wide, loose grin on Phil’s lips as they lock eyes. 

“God, you love this,” Dan manages to get out in a teasing huff—part surprise, part delight. 

All he gets in response is a flash of blown out blue so dark, it’s almost black. Phil’s eyes don’t leave his face as he sinks down and bobs with abandon—and the very fucking tight, soft seal of his mouth. 

“I’m gonna- fuck- I can’t-” Dan babbles. His thighs tremble, his grip in Phil’s hair tightening. 

Phil pops off with a hum that makes Dan twitch, Phil’s quick tight fist around the base of his cock the only thing stopping him from painting his puffy, glistening lips. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he rasps, bottom lip brushing against the head of Dan’s cock as he speaks. 

_“Phil_.”

Phil hums, like he knows he’s got Dan wrapped around his finger, all needy and pathetic and _begging._ “Hey,” Phil smirks, speaking softly with a hand squeezing at Dan’s thigh. “Don’t look at me.” He shakes his head a little, eyes trained on Dan’s face. “Watch the film,” he instructs.

Another firm squeeze at his thigh has Dan’s eyes snapping up instantly. 

Sweat slick skin glistens on the screen. A cry from the surround sound fills Dan’s ears as he watches the men on screen stutter and tremble, and Dan is absolutely _gone_ for it. 

Phil sinks back down, letting Dan melt, becoming a part of the theatre seat as all the tension leaves his body except for his tight grip in Phil’s hair, as his cock pulses down Phil’s throat. 

Phil stays. Dan feels him swallow as he slowly, slowly pulls off Dan’s cock, his tongue jolting him in aftershocks as he cleans every last drop. Dan can’t do anything more than shake in his seat, finding the arm that doesn’t have a hand buried in Phil’s hair slung across his forehead, over his eyes as his face absolutely burns. 

Dan pants, jolts with the slight over stimulation until Phil decides he’s satisfied and carefully tucks him back into his pants. He doesn’t bother with his trousers, and Dan pulls his arm away when he feels his hand in Phil’s hair slip, Phil getting up from the floor to climb up onto his lap. 

Phil rolls his hips a little, his fringe tickling at Dan’s forehead, and Dan laughs—a little manic. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Dan breathes. “You swallowed. That was hot,” he says as his hands find Phil’s waist, squeezing around his hips. 

“Well, if I didn’t, you’d be the one having to clean it up, right?” Phil sounds so much more collected somehow, even as he presses up against Dan—the only giveaway the slight rasp of his voice as he laughs. 

“God, you’re-” Dan shakes his head, holds Phil tighter as he lets all of his fond, exasperated feelings settle wordlessly between them. 

There’s a slight pout on Phil’s mouth, puffy bottom lip jutting out. “Do you not want to kiss me now?” he asks. And Dan reckons it’s the first time he’s ever heard Phil sound genuinely shy. He bumps his nose against Phil’s, nuzzling softly as he tilts his head. 

“Oh no, I do,” Dan says against his lips before confidently pressing forward. He tastes himself on Phil’s tongue—and a bit of fizzy peach. He’s honestly not mad about it, he kind of already feels addicted to it, like one single drop can have him craving for a lifetime. 

Enjoying kissing Phil, _finally_ kissing Phil, Dan lets him lazily roll his hips into him until Phil’s the one torn apart and begging. He takes a hand from Phil’s waist to really give him something to press into, and Phil doesn’t move his hands from either side of Dan’s face, cupping his cheeks as they move like they were made for it. Like they’re mad for it.

With the flipping thumps Dan’s heart is doing in his chest as Phil shudders, melts into him with a bite right where his neck meets shoulder, Dan reckons they are. 

**Author's Note:**

> shout at me on [tumblr](https://sierraadeux.tumblr.com/post/641601619047399425/fade-to-black-e-7-224-words-danphil) if u so wish


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